


His Tempest

by VisceralComa



Series: Comafall [9]
Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-24 12:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20706329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisceralComa/pseuds/VisceralComa
Summary: De Sardet was always His Tempest.Chapter 1 - With She/Her/Hers pronounsChapter 2 - With He/Him/His pronouns





	1. She/Her/Hers

She was always a Tempest. His Tempest.

Quiet when she absorbed information and picked up strength in the calm. It built and built, pressure and cloudy days as the toll of the truth weighed on her. And then she was loud, a force to be reckoned with as she ravaged and raged. Sometimes he didn't know of her anger until she was upon them. Her blade to their throat and her fierce lightning gold eyes bearing down on them as they pled for mercy. But there was seldom any.

She whirled her way across the island like a gusting hurricane that he had delivered from across the seas and oceans. He feels, almost responsible for it, yet all Vasco felt was awe. Awe and fear at first. He thought her an unfeeling storm, fierce and quick to act, but the toll was harsh. The horrors of Tir Fradi weighed heavily like the waters in a budding storm cloud. For like a Tempest, Sylvie was thunderous and flashing. Her quick wind and lightning punishment heralded the rains.

For there was always a torrent, it just mattered on when and where.

They had delivered the captive natives from the Ordo Luminis's camp to a nearby clan that would ensure their safety, recovery, and return to their clans. They were settling for the night, secluded and hidden away.

There was a stream not far. Allowing for them to wash and prepare for the night. Yet that night there was no merriment. Shaken by what they had seen. The room of torture to force conversion, with the blood stained walls and chains. The remains of bodies had been too much for Siora and she had broken down there and killed the first Ordo Luminis they had come across with a burst of vines. Even Petrus remained quiet, offering only his solemn sorrow and shame for his brothers. Even here in the camp they remained quiet.

Sylvie moved around the camp and checked on each of them as though it were her duty. Vasco saw the weight upon her shoulders. Her heavy swallows as she sat beside Siora as she buried their remains and performed the proper funeral rights per their custom. Her steely understanding when she discovered Aphra documenting the cruelties of the Ordo in her journal. Her silent relief in Petrus for his Theleme sect's lack of involvement in the horrors. And her kinship with Kurt's silent yet controlled rage as he sat still, sharpening his sword with a whetstone. Each swipe no doubt sharpening the cut for the future death it would cause.

She finally came to him, she had nothing left save for restraint. And so she stiffly asked if he was alright, if he needed anything.

Was he angry at what they saw, what they uncovered? Yes. Insurmountably. But he'd seen much in his life.

"No." His answer was simple and yet all the same a relief to her.

And he watched, waiting for the torrential rain as the last of her resolve and restraint wore out. Yet she sagged by her crafting bag, her fingers fiddled with the odd bottle of poison as she re-categorized and organized it again and again until finally she rose. "I'll be taking a bath." She announced.

Vasco heard the shake in her voice and the heavy lump she swallowed.

The schink of the whetstone stopped and Kurt looked up. "Someone should go with you. As a lookout."

"I'll go." Vasco was quick to offer as he rose.

Sylvie winced but nodded. It wasn't like it was completely safe out here. They were far from New Serene or well outside the city limits of San Matheus.

He met Kurt's gaze, a look of understanding passed between them. Kurt knew what was about to occur as surely as Vasco did and someone had to be there, for her.

Vasco followed Sylvie. They approached the stream and the sound of distant waterfall would mask their steps as they grew closer and closer until only Vasco could hear her.

"I'll turn my back, Madame." He did so. He cast his sight on the woods that surrounded them. They were out in the open and it put him at edge, until she spoke again.

"You don't have to be here." She tried. Her voice quivered.

"These woods aren't entirely safe, Madame."

"I-I'm perfectly capable of..." She took a sharp intake of breath. "...protecting myself."

"Of that I have no doubt." Vasco frowned. "But you looked like you needed a moment..." He felt her heavy watery gaze on his back.

"Va-" Her breath cut short by a restrained cry.

He looked back to her, to find her eyes screwed shut.

"You don't-"

"I'm sorry!" She blurted out and gasped around a sob. Her fist shoved in her mouth to stifle her cries as she turned away, walking further but her legs wobbled and she sunk.

He was beside her. The Tempest's tears returned to the sea and washed the land. Her sorrow expressed for each life taken, each life saved, each life she believed she failed.

"I've got you." He whispered as she turned to the shoulder he offered.

For though he caught and held her whilst shivering and crying in his arms, he'd been caught in the Tempest's squall.

The quiet came and the storm died. Yet still she was a Tempest as she looked up at him, puffy-eyed and somber. "You're crying too." She murmured.

"What?" His voice cracked and he blinked. A tear fell to his cheek. "Indeed I am. It would seem, I am not as unaffected as I thought." He warbled.

"Or you're a sympathetic crier." She offered with a smile. At his flushing cheek and his turnt gaze, she gasped in delight. "That was a guess!"

"A decidedly good one." Vasco smiled, unashamed.

She laughed, eyes alight and sparkling with residual tears. And with her humor, as with her sorrow, he was anchored in the center of her storm, of His Tempest.


	2. He/Him/His

Simon was always a Tempest. His Tempest.

Quiet when he absorbed information and picked up strength in the calm. It built and built, pressure and cloudy days as the toll of the truth weighed on him. And then he was loud, a force to be reckoned with as he ravaged and raged. Sometimes he didn't know of his anger until Simon was upon them. His blade to their throat and fierce lightning gold eyes bearing down on them as they pled for mercy. But there was seldom any.

He whirled his way across the island like a gusting hurricane that Vasco had delivered from across the seas and oceans. He feels almost responsible for it, but mostly he felt awe. Awe and fear at first. He thought him an unfeeling storm, fierce and quick to act, but the toll was harsh. The horrors of Tir Fradi weighed heavily like the waters in a budding storm cloud. For like a Tempest, Simon was thunderous and flashing. His quick wind and lightning punishment heralded the rains.

For there was always a torrent, it just mattered on when and where.

They had delivered the captive natives from the Ordo Luminis's camp to a nearby clan that would ensure their safety, recovery, and return to their clans. They were settling for the night, secluded and hidden away.

There was a stream not far. Allowing for them to wash and prepare for the night. Yet that night there was no merriment. Shaken by what they had seen. The memory too strong of the torture room to force conversion, with the blood stained walls and chains. The remains of bodies had been too much for Siora and she had broken down there and killed the first Ordo Luminis they had come across with a burst of vines. Even Petrus remained quiet, offering only his solemn sorrow and shame for his brothers. Even here in the camp they remained quiet.

Simon moved around the camp and checked on each of them as though it were his duty. Vasco saw the weight upon his shoulders. His heavy swallows as he sat beside Siora as she buried their remains and performed the proper funeral rights per their custom. His steely understanding when he discovered Aphra documenting the cruelties of the Ordo in her journal. His silent relief in Petrus for his Theleme sect's lack of involvement in the horrors. And his kinship with Kurt's silent yet controlled rage as he sat still, sharpening his sword with a whetstone. Each swipe no doubt sharpening the cut for the future death it would cause.

Finally he stopped in front of Vasco, yet had nothing left save for restraint. And so he stiffly asked if he was alright, if he needed anything.

Was he angry at what they saw, what they uncovered? Yes. Insurmountably. But he'd seen much in his life.

"No." His answer was simple and yet all the same a relief to Simon.

And he watched, waiting for the torrential rain as the last of his resolve and restraint wore out. Yet still he sagged by his bag, his fingers fiddled with the odd bottle of poison as he re-categorized and organized it again and again until finally he rose. "I'll be taking a bath." He announced.

Vasco heard the shake in his voice and the heavy lump he swallowed.

The schink of the whetstone stopped and Kurt looked up. "Someone should go with you. As a lookout."

"I'll go." Vasco was quick to offer as he rose.

Simon winced but nodded. It wasn't like it was completely safe out here. They were far from New Serene or well outside the city limits of San Matheus.

He met Kurt's gaze, a look of understanding passed between them. Kurt knew what was about to occur as surely as Vasco did and someone had to be there, for him

Vasco followed Simon. They approached the stream and the sound of distant waterfall would mask their steps as they grew closer and closer until only Vasco could hear him.

"I'll turn my back." He did so. He cast his sight on the woods that surrounded them. They were out in the open and it put him at edge, until he spoke again.

"You don't have to be here." His voice quivered.

"These woods aren't entirely safe."

"I-I'm perfectly capable of..." He took a sharp intake of breath. "...protecting myself."

"Of that I have no doubt." Vasco frowned. "But you looked like you needed a moment..." Vasco felt his heavy watery gaze on his back.

"Va-" His breath cut short by a restrained cry.

He looked back to find his eyes screwed shut.

"You don't-"

"Sorry!" He blurted out and gasped around a sob. His face contorted and his fist shoved in his mouth to stifle the cries. He turned away, walking further but his legs wobbled and he sunk.

Vasco was beside him. The Tempest's tears returned to the sea and washed the land. His sorrow expressed for each life taken, each life saved, each life he believed he failed.

"I've got you." He whispered as he turned to the shoulder he offered.

For though Vasco caught and held him whilst shivering and crying in his arms, he'd been caught in the Tempest's squall.

The quiet came and the storm died. Yet still he was a Tempest as he looked up at him, puffy-eyed and somber. "You're crying too." A murmur against his neck.

"What?" His voice cracked and he blinked. A tear fell to his cheek. "Indeed I am. It would seem, I am not as unaffected as I thought." He warbled.

"Or you're a sympathetic crier." Simon offered with a smile. At his flushing cheek and his turnt gaze, Simon gasped in delight. "That was a guess!"

"A decidedly good one." Vasco smiled, unashamed.

He laughed, eyes alight and sparkling with residual tears. And with his humor, as with his sorrow, Vasco was anchored in the center of his storm, of His Tempest.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this song: [Wallfisch: Siren's Lullaby · Yuja Wang · Benjamin Wallfisch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wcycuvodyow)


End file.
